Vincent’s art exhibition. It was perhaps the oldest and most looked forward to event of the year which gathered visitors not only from all over the country but also from abroad. It was a massive opportunity for artists, both local and international, to showcase their mastery and to garner potential buyers for their works. The audience of the exhibition consisted of all sorts of people, some who carried a true passion for art in their hearts, others who just came for the sake of making an appearance and still others who came to find their prince charming in the crowd of extremely good looking people, but the one thing they all had in common was that they were rich. Insanely rich. The only reason I could make it to this exhibition was because of my beneficiary, who I assumed was also like one of them, insanely rich but also, equally kind.

I crossed the hall and made my way to the art gallery, looking at each painting one by one, speculating what the artist must have had in mind while painting it, all the while getting closer and closer to my destination- the wall of fame on the east side of the gallery. This wall bore the masterpieces of some famous deceased artists. My most favorite piece and the reason of attending the Vincent’s exhibition religiously every year was this- a giant painting placed on the far right of the wall, a little baby girl in the arms of a beautiful red haired woman, both crying as another woman stood behind them, smiling through her tears. My father’s last painting.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” I turned around at the unfamiliar voice of a man and to my surprise, it was the man with the brown eyes from before. I instructed myself to look away quickly but it was physically painful to tear my eyes away from his beautiful face that looked even more perfect from up close. How could somebody look so divine, how was it even humanly possible?

Shut up Laura, I chided myself as I finally faced ahead again unwillingly, the warmth returning to my cheeks.

“Speaking of beautiful, so is your blush,” he whispered in my ear as he came to stand next to me, turning me into a darker shade of crimson. Did he just flirt with me?

“It always reminds me of my mother,” he continued as if he hadn’t just complimented me a minute ago. Did I imagine it? “And I feel like even while we’re separated by the realms of two different worlds, in this moment, right now, she is with me,” he said. I darted a brief glance at him. He looked sad, an expression that seemed completely out of place on his beautiful face, like it didn’t deserve to be there. I wish I could take it away, I thought quietly to myself before reality kicked in.

“What is wrong with you today, stop it,” inner me scolded for the third time during the day.

The man cleared his throat, distracting me temporarily from my thoughts.

“I’m Arthur,” Arthur smiled, baring his perfect set of teeth at me, looking effortlessly like a demi-God in the dim yellow light of the chandelier and held out his hand. For a moment I just stood there trying to recover from his smile, before my gaze slowly travelled down his thick arm to his extended hand. Arthur shifted, clearing his throat again expectantly and breaking me out of my trance. I wish he couldn’t tell the effect his presence had on me.

“Laura,” I blurted out without looking up. “I’m Laura Mathews.” I placed my tiny hand in his massive one, shaking it once before trying to withdraw it.

“Laura Mathews,” he repeated in a low voice, “it is really nice to meet you,” he said as he bent down to kiss my hand.